


Family

by darker_descent



Series: Symbruary 2020 [1]
Category: Earth X (Marvel Comics), MC2 (Marvel), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Venom (Comics)
Genre: Bonding, Crime Fighting, Daddy Issues, Family, Found Family, Gen, Mommy Issues, Motherhood, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Reconciliation, Shared Trauma, Symbruary, Trauma, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-22 13:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22516957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darker_descent/pseuds/darker_descent
Summary: Various one shots that take a look at the familial dynamics of various symbiotes and their hosts.Posted for Symbruary 2020 Day 9: FamilyEver since it had returned to her, she hadn’t asked it to leave.It had taken getting used to, this silent voice in the back of her head, craving from her something she’d never thought to offer: motherhood.It let Tanis work with it. In return, she fed it. She cared for it.It loved her.She lived with it.
Relationships: April Parker & Mary Jane Watson, Mavis Trent & Payback Symbiote, May "Mayday" Parker & Peter Parker, May "Mayday" Parker & Venom Symbiote, Scott Washington & Hybrid Symbiote, Tanis Nieves & Scorn Symbiote
Series: Symbruary 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630045
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19
Collections: SYMBRUARY





	1. Unwanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An exploration of Earth X's Mayday Parker and her relationship with the Venom symbiote.

May Parker had learned at a young age that she had to be strong. When her mother died, there wasn’t room for her to mourn. Her father was doing enough of that for the both of them.

She had inherited his powers. And with them, his responsibilities. It was her job to continue the legacy he forsook. And she did so without his shame, without his masks.

As she expected, his enemies came for her. One of them was his old symbiotic foe, the alien half of Venom, desperately looking to attack the thing closest to Peter: her. But maybe more than revenge, it wanted unity again. Maybe that was why it was so easy for her spider-sense to subdue it. Maybe, more than taking control, it wanted to be controlled.

May welcomed its assistance. Her father, predictably, did not. Another wall between them. More man-made than they understood.

But they got better. They got closer. And all it took was for May’s bodily autonomy to be taken away by some mind-controlling creep with a god complex.

They worked together now, which was good. Great, even. He was back to making stupid dad jokes that she could openly and lovingly cringe at (which amused their fellow officers).

They still fought, of course. Practically every day. That was normal for them. (Was it always normal?)

Their battles almost seemed to culminate when he went to take out Spiders Man, the illusion-making creep who used to work for the Skull, and had recently moved onto some creepy cult that worshipped Immortus. His illusion powers were tricking people into thinking the place was offering more food and shelter than it was in reality.

He was gone for two days. She knew something was wrong.

She found him easily. He was trapped in Spiders Man’s illusion. The symbiote let her enter it, to confront her father’s nightmare.

Upon seeing her, her father attacked. She couldn’t… she couldn’t understand why.

The symbiote could.

She didn’t want to believe it.

But eventually she realized it was true.

This wasn’t Spiders Man’s illusion.

It was her father’s.

A world where Gwen Stacy never died, where Norman Osborn’s Goblin legacy was stopped in its tracks, and where May’s mother was married to Harry Osborn.

A world where her father was married to Gwen Stacy.

A world where they had a son.

A world where May never existed.

She remembered every second of that moment. The moment she realized…

Her body trembled. The symbiote melted off her body like a thick oil, her own form crumbling to the floor in a similar fashion.

“You had…a  _ son… _ ” she had said, voice shaking. “That’s what you wanted.”

She watched Gwen Stacy-Parker put her hand against her father’s chest.

“You didn’t want  _ mom… _ ”

He put a proud arm around his son. He had his mother’s eyes.

“…and you didn’t want  _ me. _ ”

She put her head in her hands, the symbiote continuing to drip off her flesh.

“Oh God,” she said. “Why did you  _ do this _ to us?”

Her father looked at her with empty eyes. Like she wasn’t there at all. His arm stayed around the shoulders of his perfect son, his perfect wife standing at his side.

“You don’t want me,” she said. “I’m not what you want.”

And the world broke around her.

It was wrong. It was all  _ wrong, _ everything in her world. She was never supposed to  _ be _ here, never supposed to be her mother’s daughter. Sometimes she would ask herself if he would be happier if she had never existed.

She had her answer, she supposed.

“I’m so very sorry, May,” he had after breaking out of the illusion. “I don’t  _ deserve _ your forgiveness.”

He didn’t.

“I  _ need _ you, May. And I didn’t know how much till now.”

She didn’t bother to respond. What was she supposed to say?

_ “I need you, too, Dad. I always have. I needed you back then. I need you now.” _

She didn’t say anything. And so she was left to wonder whether there would be a new wall between them, one of her own creation this time.

She didn’t sleep well that night. Not that she usually did, but sometimes she tried. It was nice, every once in a while, even if it was rendered relatively useless by the symbiote.

“Is this what it was like for you?” she asked the darkness. “When he didn’t want you, but you still needed him to love you.”

The symbiote never spoke to her with words. Only concepts and feelings and the occasional vague image, all of which she beginning was understanding more with each passing day.

It voicelessly explained that it was different for them. It had harbored different affections for Peter Parker than May did for her father.

“I know that,” May said.

The symbiote swirled through her brain. It knew, it explained. It knew these feelings. It hadn’t wished to feel them again.

“I thought things between us were…” She sighed. “I don’t want to hate him. Not like you do. He’s my  _ dad. _ I want us to be a family, like we used to.”

It didn’t hate him. At least, not as much as it used to.

She looked down at her hands. Neon red veins mapped the symbiote oil-slick outer coating. It was always there, always pulsing, always feeling.

“How am I supposed to forgive him?” she whispered. “How am I supposed to look at him and know that me and Mom were never what he wanted?”

It didn’t know. It was hardly an expert on forgiveness. It forgave too easily with some, and maybe not enough with others. It had forgiven Peter Parker when he first offered for it to re-bond with him. After that, it could never forgive him again.

It forgave May Parker. Maybe too easily, after she had subjugated it into submission. She knew what that was like — having your body taken from you, used for the agenda of some high-and-mighty asshole who thinks he knows best. So now they were a team.

It liked being a team.

“I like it, too,” she admitted. “Always someone to listen to my bad jokes.”

It curled tighter around her hands, in some imitation of a comforting squeeze. It wasn’t very successful, but the gesture was…nice. She clenched her fist in a similar attempt at comfort. It rumbled just between her stomach and her rib cage, and it took a moment for her to realize it was laughing. Mute as ever, it was laughing.

It didn’t last long. More of a chuckle, really. It had been briefly uplifting, before May’s thoughts inevitably went back to the events of the night.

“I never knew we were so similar,” she said. She wrapped her arms around herself. “We’re both unwanted. We’re both used.”

She paused to suck in a breath. She squeezed her arms tighter around herself, like she was going to melt away again. The moment replayed over and over and over again: ripping off Spider-Man’s mask, expecting to see her father, only to be met with the perfect and boyish face of Ben Parker-Stacy, who had perfectly taken up the Spider-Man legacy. He had the quips and everything. What did May have going for her? Anger and unrelenting trauma? Certainly not the attributes of the kind, no-kill Spider-Child her father had hoped he’d raise.

“It’s no wonder he didn’t want me,” she said, fingers digging into her arms. The only thing keeping her from injury was the symbiote’s protection.

“I’m going to forgive him,” she murmured. “I can’t not forgive him. I can’t be the one who builds a new wall between us.” She curled her torso down to her legs, laying herself into a ball. “I can’t be the one to put on more masks.”

The symbiote said nothing, as always. It simply curled a bit tighter around her, and at some point in the night she told it that it was wanted. She told it that it was her friend.

She knew it returned the sentiment.

It always would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really didn't care about earth x, so most of this is based on the "spidey" universe x special, which absolutely hit me in the gut with love for may parker


	2. Black Sheep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April Parker is the half-human half-symbiote daughter of Mary Jane Watson and Peter Parker, and the sister to Spider-Girl. Crushed by her family's rejection and the trauma of being robbed of the life May Parker had in her place, her mental health begins to spiral out of control.
> 
> Originally, no one is able to sufficiently help her. But at her core April is a good person, and I wanted to do a take where Mary Jane is able to help her.

“April.”

She could sense from miles away when her Auntie M was going to open that door. Still she flinched when she heard her name, and again when her mother approached her.

“Where did you get that outfit?” she asked.

She was referring to the swirls of blue and black that decorated every inch below her head. That wasn’t an outfit. It was  _ her. _ It was  _ Mayhem. _ Mayhem, who was supposed to be the hero that Spider-Girl could never be. A hero with the guts to do something besides preach to a deaf choir about how absolutely horrible it is to kill someone to end a  _ gang war. _ Why, what noble cowardice, Mayday! It made her want to gag.

But instead of that, she curled up against the bathtub, hugging her knees with clawed hands.

“…and why are you crying?” Auntie M asked.

“E-everyone  _ hates _ me,” she sobbed. “The kids at school…May…even you and Uncle Pete!”

“What? Where do you get such nonsense?”

“N-nothing works out like I planned,” she continued. “I’m even beginning to think  _ May _ is the original and  _ I’m _ the clone.”

“Sweetheart,” Mary Jane said, reaching out to cup her face in her hands, “that isn’t important—”

“Don’t touch me!” April screeched. Tendrils of hair curled menacingly at the woman who should have been  _ her _ mother, who should have been there for  _ her, _ not May, and who should’ve somehow known that her real daughter was wasting away in a  _ test tube _ while some  _ phony _ stole her life!

“Okay!” Auntie M said, pulling her hands away. “Okay. I won’t touch you. It’s okay.”

“It was supposed to be  _ me, _ ” April whispered. “I’m the original. I have to be. She’s the fake,  _ she’s _ the monster, and I’m the one who deserved the live  _ my life!” _

“You  _ both _ deserved that, hon.” She began to reach out again, but decided against it, taking a seat a few good inches away from her. “You both deserved a normal life. And if Peter and I had known you were out there, we would’ve come for you, clone or not.”

“But you didn’t,” April said. “No one came. You left me there while she…” She trailed off into a sob. “And n-now…n-no one can  _ love _ me. No one can love me.”

“Oh, April,” she said. “You have to know that isn’t true.”

“Isn’t it?” she shouted, raising her head to finally look her “aunt” in the eye. Her hair curled again and her face stretched into an exaggerated smile, teeth elongating into that of a predator’s, her irises shrinking until it was only pupil on white left. “Look at me!  _ Look at me! _ I’m not like you! I’m not like Peter! I’m not like Mayday!”

As she stood her eyes widened and curved, and her fangs began to unite with her flesh until flesh became fang and fang became flesh. “I don’t want your help. I don’t want your lies. I’m the  _ real _ May Parker, and I want  _ revenge! _ ”

She was practically screeching now. She must have woken the baby, because she could hear Benjy wailing in the other room.

“Go on,” April said. “Go take care of your  _ son. _ ”

Mary Jane stared at her. For a long time, both of them were still, the only sound in the house being the pair’s quiet breaths and Benjy’s heavy whimpers.

Finally, Mary Jane shook her head.

“I can’t imagine how you feel, April,” she said. “Norman Osborn should never have been able to take your life away from you. But this is May’s life, too. And I don’t care which of you is or is not the original May Parker, because no matter what, you are both my daughters.” She outstretched a hand. “And I’m your mother. And a mother’s responsibility toward her daughter is to love her no matter what. And that’s what I intend to do.”

She smiled softly. “For the both of you.”

That smile was all it took for her to break. Her fangs dissolved, and her white eyes melted away into something tearful.

Something human.

She sobbed into Mary Jane’s — her aunt’s? Her mother’s? — shoulder, clawed hands digging into the woman’s back for support. She just held April in turn, strong arms clasping around her, a soft hand combing through her hair, an uncharacteristically quiet voice telling her “It’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay.”

They stayed like that until Benjy’s cries grew incessant, and Mary Jane gave April a light push to separate them.

“Let’s go check on him,” she said, offering her hand.

April didn’t take it. But she stood and followed the woman who should’ve been her mother, and considered for a moment that maybe she would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> join me in the "april 'mayhem' parker deserved better" club, we meet every april 1st and we cry about spider-girl: the end for hours


	3. Mothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hosting the spawn of Carnage wasn't where Dr. Tanis Nieves expected her career to lead her. But. well, here she was.

Ever since it had returned to her, she hadn’t asked it to leave.

It had taken getting used to, this silent voice in the back of her head, craving from her something she’d never thought to offer: motherhood.

It was not her child. It was the spawn of  _ Carnage, _ of Cletus Kasady. Maybe even of Shriek, in an odd way.

But that wasn’t entirely true, was it? It had been born while Tanis Nieves was housing the Carnage symbiote, not Kasady. It was born in  _ her _ prosthetic, born attached to  _ her _ mind, born looking to  _ her _ for permission and guidance and love.

It was a skittish thing. It didn’t like to show itself unless she asked it to, and even then she could feel that it was hesitant.

It wasn’t at all like its birth mother. That thing had  _ possessed _ Tanis, taken her over and made her into a raging and mindless monster, all while she struggled to regain control.

This creature never possessed. It inhabited. It let Tanis work with it. In return, she fed it. She cared for it.

It loved her.

She lived with it.

She had been a psychiatrist, once. That’s where she got her fun little “Dr.” title. A psychoanalysis of herself might show that her own trauma involving the Carnage symbiote had made her colder. Less feeling. More mechanical.

She certainly couldn’t blame that on the symbiote, no matter how she tried. In its birth it had been merged with machinery, but it felt more than Tanis did these days.

Well. Except for  _ rage. _

The spark for that current rage was the sight of its birth mother, cased in a tight transparent sphere. It writhed discontentedly, its form occasionally morphing into something Carnage-like so it could hiss and snap at Tanis, and sometimes even try to jab a sharpened piece of biomass at her. It never penetrated the cage. And of course it wouldn’t. Scorn had designed it themselves.

She put her right hand against the reinforced plastic of the sphere. It was her prosthetic, made of metal and mass, an organism and inorganic material. The metal of it was cold. The symbiote that held it together was warm.

The Carnage symbiote let out another hiss, muffled by its prison but loud nonetheless. A collection of small scythes and knives and other sharp objects formed from its blood red biomass, all of it aimed in an assault at Scorn’s palm. Tanis smiled beneath the mask of the symbiote.

She broke into a chuckle. Her laugh these days had a tinny ring to it, like someone sliding their nails against a railing.

Her palm turned to a fist and she pounded as hard as she could against the sphere. As expected, it didn’t even dent.

She leaned in closer to the creature that had spawned Scorn, the blank white eyes of three creatures interlocking at once.

“We can’t  _ wait _ until they kill you,” Scorn snarled.

Hot in their veins was a shared anger. A hatred for the being that had created them.

And maybe that was the moment Dr. Nieves made use of her PhD again. Maybe that was when she came to realize this rage was not just the genetic hatred of symbiote offspring toward its parent, but something deeper. Yes, so much deeper, because that  _ thing _ had hurt its mommy. Its  _ home _ . That, more than the fact that it was its biological parent, was unforgivable.

That night she had Lucky Charms. Extra milk. Its favorite.

And when she got into bed, she dreamt of the many, many ways the two of them could kill Carnage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *thinks about how much donny cates scorned scorn by having her offer herself to carnage and then be killed by him*


	4. Pumpkin Spiced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mavis Trent is a member of the True Believers, a group of superhero rejects who work to bring real justice to the world. But Mavis is also a host to a symbiote, which bonded with her shortly after the death of her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: mentions of/allusions to rape (drugs), sex trafficking
> 
> (neither are actually present in the story, but again they are alluded to/mentioned)

“Can I buy you a drink?” the man next to her offered. Mavis gave him a once-over. He was a fairly attractive man, lean but muscular, with a strong jawline and a welcoming smile. To the average person, he looked extremely trustworthy. To an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. and a True Believer, it was easy to look into his eyes and see the cold calculations running through his mind.

He leaned an elbow on the bar, almost nonchalant, but there was a subtle stiffness to it. It was too practiced.

Mavis plastered a smile onto her disguise: an attractive but lonely redhead nursing half a martini at the bar. Attractive enough that he would approach her, but not enough that anyone else would. Slouched posture. A vacant gaze as she stirred her drink with her collection of impaled olives.

“I’d like that,” she said.

His grin widened, and he flagged down the bartender. He ordered the special with a wink, and the bartender nodded silently. He produced an innocuous glass of red mystery liquid, which the man next to Mavis took with glee. He pressed his thumb to the top of the liquid in a manner that appeared accidental.

Mavis knew better.

She took the drink from his hands with a flattered smile and a faux blush to her cheeks.

She took a small sip, which was in character for this shy woman she had created, who had been hesitantly sipping her martini the entire night. A lightweight, probably.

One sip was all it took for the effects to start kicking in. Her vision blurred, her speech slurred, her movements became slow and imprecise. The wave passed as soon as it had arrived, filtered out by her symbiote.

_ Careful, pumpkin, _ it said.

_ You’re not my dad, _ she answered. Which was partly true. It was an alien symbiote — a cousin of whatever Venom and Carnage were. But it had also bonded with her father, and after his death had retained a lot of his memories and even personality. (And also, apparently, a fatherly concern for Mavis’s wellbeing.)

“Wow,” Mavis giggled, continuing to act as if the drink was affecting her. “Really good.”

As the night went on she faked a few more sips until she let her body collapse in a heap on the floor, the impact cushioned by her symbiote ( _ Max _ , she called him, as if the Are-You-My-Father deal wasn’t complicated enough).

The man next to her (who somewhere along the line had said his name was Rick) dropped his smile. He cocked his head at her. Leaned down and checked her pulse. Poked at her face. Seemingly satisfied, he motioned to the bartender, who walked over and lugged Mavis over his shoulder with surprising strength.

_ I see why Max worried for you so much, _ it said.  _ There are so many dangerous men in the world. And to think you were sleeping with one of them, too. _

_ I thought we already had this conversation,  _ Mavis said.  _ I very clearly remember a lecture full of I-told-you-so’s about getting it on with your supervisor. _

_ I remember as well, _ Max said.  _ But I believe that consistent reminders will help you retain the lesson in your mind. _

_ Oh, put a sock in it. _

Yeah, Max still hadn’t let it go that said supervisor had been the one who orchestrated real-Max’s death. But how was Mavis supposed to know that before his shitty cologne paralyzed her as he monologued about his evil scheme? The two of them were hardly close — well, emotionally, that is.

But hey, he was dead now. Burned to a fucking crisp. It was probably messed up that she found that so satisfying, but at least her joy about it kept Max fed.

Right, did she mention that the species of symbiote she hosted fed off of feelings of bliss, instead of adrenaline? Which meant it wasn’t currently being fed incredibly well, what with Mavis being stuffed into the trunk of a sedan parked behind the bar. The other patrons hadn’t reacted much at all, to her surprise. Like it was a regular occurrence, not at all noteworthy.

They drove for maybe an hour. She was sure that her teammates were timing and tracking the whole event, so there was no need for her to take note of it. Still she found herself mapping the route in her head — as best she could, anyway, having been put in the back of Rick’s designated kidnapping car.

A few more turns and then they stopped, this time for much longer than any previous halts. There was muffled conversation outside, and then the distinct clunking of some large garage door opening. They moved again, and then there was a  _ click _ , and Mavis’s limp body was hauled out of the trunk. Rick carried her gently, like she was a box of fragile cargo more than a fragile woman, and placed her against a table. Her checked her pulse, which was slow and steady, just what it had to be to convince him that she was under the effect of his drug.

There was a shuffling, a few mutterings, and definitely a lot of  _ clink _ ing. It sounded like metal. She considered opening one of her eyes, just a bit, to see what he was doing.

Before she could, Max did it for her.  _ He’s organizing his tools, _ it said.  _ They look medical, I think. _

Yeah, her dad was never a biologist. But even people who weren’t [whatever he was] would be able to recognize a scalpel, the hazy image of which it projected into her mind.

Not able to stomach her not-father’s play-by-play or its shitty image projections, she made a show of slowly waking up, eyes fluttering open and widening in shock. Whatever he had drugged her with would’ve prevented her from moving, even if she was awake, so she stayed stock still.

“Oh,” he said. “You’re awake. That’s unfortunate.” He sighed. “Your body should be numb, though. You won’t feel anything.”

His back was to her, but she could see the scalpel in his hand.

He turned around, wielding the small blade casually, like this was an everyday event. When she thought about it, it probably was.

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t wear off any more, yeah?”

She stayed silent; her vocal chords would have been frozen along with the rest of the muscles in her body.

But as soon as the scalpel was about to cut through her stomach, she tensed, and her body transformed, covered in a protective shield of a symbiote made of [whatever electromagnetic bs it’s made of].

“What the—!” Rick shouted, crashing into his bin of medical equipment, various saws and blades and tweezers crashing onto the floor. He still held the scalpel tight in his fist, as if that would somehow protect him from the hell she was about to rain down on him.

“Well,” she said, voice crackling with electricity, “this is unexpected.” She looked around at the bloodied floors, the various plastic tarps, the boxes in the corner that thumped rhythmically and disconcertingly. “What is this, baby’s first organ harvesting operation?”

“You— you—”

“You should spit it out,” Mavis said. “I might go easy on you if you cooperate.” (That was a lie.)

“Yes, yeah, organs, yeah, from stupid bitches like you—” he slipped from fear into anger “—who don’t know any better, who’re nice and healthy and nice and useless, perfect for putting your lungs on the fucking black market—”

“Alright, save the rest for court,” Mavis said, and with a flick of her finger she was shooting an electromagnetic pulse into his system that knocked him out cold. The scalpel finally clattered to the ground.

The rest of cleanup was easy. No one there was prepared for a superpowered, flying, electricity-producing, S.H.I.E.L.D.-trained symbiote-haver to kick their asses. Turned out the organ harvesting operation was run by a whole bunch of mutated weirdos, the type that fall in a vat of acid and wonder how they can use their new drug-powers in new and creative methods of evil. Rick got the aforementioned drug powers, and one of his buddies had gotten one that let him keep organs alive outside the body. Of course when whatever science accident gave him that one, he decided that instead of training to be a doctor, he’d kidnap and kill innocent women. Mavis made sure to punch him extra hard.

_ Good job, _ Max said as they looked down at the array of knocked-out black market assholes.  _ You should have dinner. It’s been awhile since you ate. _

“I’ll just have the True Believers order takeout,” she said, reaching a hand toward her earpiece.

_ No, _ it said firmly.  _ You’ve been having too much takeout. You need a more balanced diet. _

She rolled her eyes.  _ You’re still forgetting that you are not, in any definition of the word, my father. _

_ He would’ve wanted you to eat well. _

She sighed. “Fine. No takeout. How about some spaghetti?”

_ That will do. With a side of salad, _ it added.  _ You need more greens. _

She sighed, but smiled just slightly. “Sure, Max.”


	5. Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott Washington wakes up early.

_scott,_ the voices whispered. They were usually quiet. Soft-spoken.

 _scott,_ they said again, one voice and many all wrapped into one, gently calling him from his dreams.

“I’m up,” he mumbled into his pillow, stretching his arms into the air with a loud yawn. He checked the clock on his bedside table. It was almost a half hour before his alarm would go off.

“Why’d you wake me?” he asked, rubbing the night’s crust from his eyes. You’d think with all his training that early mornings would be easy by now, but they never were. “I was having a nice dream.”

_we know._

None of them could remember it now, but he knew it’d been nice. One of those dreams with a whole story, where you always wake up right in the middle, before it can reach its conclusion.

He scooted to the edge of his bed, where he waited for the tingle of his symbiote waking up and overriding his legs, making themselves into living prosthetics. He still kept his wheelchair by the side of his bed, partly as a just-in-case precaution, and partly because he couldn’t bear to get rid of something that had been so damn expensive. If only he had been Hybrid before it all happened, and then he he would’ve…and _he_ would have…

 _scott,_ they said. _not possible. can’t change it._

“Yeah,” he said, staring down at his feet. “I know.”

“Scott?” his Ma called. “Are you talking to yourself again?”

“Something like that,” he called back, and she laughed, and he couldn’t help but smile.

He got dressed in one of his more comfortable outfits, as opposed to yesterday’s too-tight suit jacket and dress pants, passed down from his father. He’d been “let go” from his security job after “The Accident,” as everyone seemed to call it. Even his symbiote miracle cure didn’t get him the job back, with someone else having taken his spot already. So he’d worked a few other jobs: cashier, grocery bagger, Walmart greeter, and his longest-lasting aforementioned career as a security guard. He’d eventually been fired from all of them, usually with a speech about his wonderful work ethic being hindered by his horrible time management. And said “horrible time management” was unknowingly referring to his second job as Hybrid, the vigilante trying to clean up his neighborhood. But he couldn’t exactly tell them that, not with the whole secret identity business.

He’d lost that greeter job (which had been difficult to obtain, despite his extreme over qualification) a few weeks ago. And as important as being Hybrid was, he didn’t exactly get financial compensation for his work. Well, except for the occasional bystander he’d helped out who was generous enough to offer him a bit of money, which he could only ever bring himself to take after a full few minutes of “I couldn’t take your money” and “Please, it’s the least I can do.” It wasn’t often that the person’s generosity survived his insistence, but sometimes it ended up that way, and sometimes when it did his guilt would override his need and he would have a symbiotic tendril slip the cash back into the person’s pocket.

So for now he was out of a paying job. He’d applied for a few more security jobs, and a few tech- and mechanics-based jobs, which Vance and his Ma had pressured him into applying for. Sure, Scott knew he was more than qualified; he had majored in electrical engineering in college, and his job as a Guardsman had required him to have a good understanding of the technology used in his job. But even so, he had been blacklisted ever since he was fired as a Guardsman.

 _bad,_ his symbiotes said. They rarely had more than a few words to offer, but his mental link to them helped get their point across.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Don’t think I’d go back to working there if I could.”

He headed to the kitchen, where his Ma had her face burrowed into their refrigerator, looking for a suitable breakfast before she had to go off to her first job. It wasn’t often that he caught her early enough to sit down and have breakfast and her.

 _’This why you woke me up?_ he asked amusedly.

 _yes,_ they said. _but…_

They trailed off. _Yes, but there’s more,_ he could feel them saying, even if they didn’t speak it.

He took another look at his mom, who was staring blankly into the fridge.

“Hey, Ma,” he said, and she jumped. She looked at Scott wide, glistening eyes, one hand clutched to her chest.

“Oh,” she said, breathing out. “Scott.” She put on that classic soft motherly smile, the one that could always make Scott feel like a little kid again. And it was comforting, yeah. But…

“What’s that look for, Ma?” he said, pulling out a bowl for his cereal. “Jeez, I usually only get that look when someone’s—”

His face fell.

_What day is it?_

They were silent.

“What day is it,” he said, aloud this time.

 _had to wake you,_ they said. _had to see her._

He checked the calendar. February 9th.

_please don’t be angry, scott._

“I’m not angry,” he said, even as hot tears began to form in his eyes. “Not at you.”

His heart was thumping in his chest, a familiar rhythm sounding off until he was back, back right here, back sitting on the kitchen table wearing his security uniform, back before a bullet to the spine caused his paraplegia, back when—

The shots echoed in Scott’s ears; the pain when they broke his skin, when he fell to the floor, when his skull knocked against the hardwood. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was what came after, and before, and during; what mattered was the unmistakable sound of bullets tearing through flesh as Dylan’s lifeless body collapsed to the floor, eyes staring vacantly up at the sky. Scott was there again, helpless while his brother died in front of him, the only sign of life left on him being the immortalized fear behind his eyes, subwoofers not enough to drown out Scott’s screams, somehow distant even to his own ears.

_scott._

He came to on his knees, clutching himself in something like a hug, as if that would stop his body from quaking. His vision blurred, he saw his mother, and as he came to he felt her clutching his face in her hands, wiping the tears from his eyes. That smile was still on her face, quivering with the threat to dissipate, but still holding strong.

 _“Mama,”_ he said, and when he hugged her he was a boy again, and even as she weeped into his shoulder she was the strongest person he knew.

“I know, Scotty,” she said.

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it happens that the issue depicting dylan's death released in february, so that's why i decided to make it today's date


End file.
